I need to know how she feels. I need to know. I need to understand.
I researched the disease for hours. Hours that would amount to years when added up. I've watched too many videos. I've listened to too many doctors, family, friends. Everyone giving me advice an(more)d opinions that in the end mean zilch. They don't know her. They don't know "us".
The monster inside her -
bipolar schizo-effective disorder.
My helplessness is beyond overwhelming. It suffocates my existence. I want to slap her back to reality. At the same time I want to hold her until the pain subsides. The cornucopia of emotions leaves me drained. Her dark shadow begins to overtake me.
I rage and I cry.
I pick myself up.
I wallow again.
I cry for her.
I cry for me.
The sick person I am talking about is my child. The baby I taught how to walk and talk. The toddler that looked up at me as if I were the only person that mattered. The teenager who I counseled, consoled and wrestled with...until that day when changes became noticeable to me. Changes she suffered with for years.
How could I not see it? Why couldn't I prevent this monster from stealing my child's mind? When did I lose the ability to protect her? Was it her that changed? Or did I finally wake up from my denial?
I stand by helplessly watching. I can only offer love. What good is that? My child's heart can't reach her mind.
I loved her intensely from the moment I felt her first movement inside me. What good did that do her? My love was never strong enough armor to cushion this monster's blows. It will never be.